Of Fairytales and Forest Fires
by Mackenzie L
Summary: There was no way he would fail to find her now. Not with his formidable sense of direction, and her wanton desire to be discovered. As he'd said before, this was uncharted land, but she was more than willing to walk all over it with him. - One-shot. In which Briar Rose learns the meaning of the word "handsome."


_A few nights ago, I was watching Sleeping Beauty with my niece, and I was inspired to write an alternate, more realistic version of Aurora's first encounter with Prince Philip in the forest. Truth be told, I felt a sheltered sixteen-year-old would most likely have more trepidation when meeting a perfect stranger. I decided to build up a little more background for Aurora's childhood and then use it to speculate how she would react to meeting the prince. _

_The following is based on the Disney cartoon version of Sleeping Beauty (1959). _

* * *

**Of Fairytales and Forest Fires**

**by Mackenzie L.**

Dreams were strange things.

Nothing was quite the same in a dream as it was in the real world. It was a separate reality, designed for the sole purpose of confusing and titillating, perplexing and beguiling. Since she was a little girl, Briar Rose had always been intrigued by her dreams.

Her favorite dream was the one about the Prince. It all began when Aunt Flora read her a fairytale one night. Rose had only been about ten years old at the time, and her young heart was frightfully impressionable. She still remembered how mystical the illustrations had looked in the light of her bedside candle, and how haunted she'd been by the face of the man on that last page. After the story was over, Aunt Flora had tucked her into bed and wished her pleasant dreams, but all Briar Rose could think about was the mysterious Prince from that fairytale book. She tossed and turned in her bed that night as her mind writhed with fitful wonderings that had only went unanswered. At a young age, Briar Rose was suddenly aware of how sheltered she had been to have never seen a man before with her own eyes.

Until that moment, her only exposure to men had been through paintings and pages in various books. But in all those depictions, she had never seen a man who looked like _that_ before. There was something distinctly different about this Prince in her fairytale book. She didn't understand what made her want to look at the picture over and over, to inspect every detail of it until her mind could take no more and she began to feel dizzy. She didn't know why she felt so feverish when she looked at his eyes, or why she felt a tingle in her belly when she traced the lines of his physique with her finger on the page.

She began begging her aunts to read her that very same story every night, just so that she could get a glimpse of that beautiful illustration at the very end. And she'd wait for it religiously, battling sleepy eyelids for the moment when the last page would flip and her heart would pounce at the sight of that picture. In it, the Prince stood with his head held high, a sword on his hip, and a cape around his shoulders, standing proudly beside his stallion. He wore boots that came up to his knees, and dark gloves on his hands, and he was smiling as if he knew some wonderful little secret. It was the most breathtaking image she'd ever seen.

She wasn't sure why the picture affected her so deeply. Night after night, it always inspired the same reaction from her. Then one evening came when Aunt Flora noticed how intently she was staring at the picture.

"You like this story, don't you, Rose?" Aunt Flora asked.

"Oh, yes. I like it very much," said Briar Rose.

Aunt Flora smiled. "May I ask what you like most about it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Briar Rose shrugged. "I suppose I like that it has a happy ending."

Flora had that mischievous look in her wise eyes. "And you like the pictures, don't you?"

The little girl shifted under her quilt. "Hm? Oh, yes. The pictures are nice as well."

"Especially this last one. With the Prince?"

Briar Rose slowly pulled her quilt up to her chin, just staring at the page. "Yes," she admitted meekly.

"He's the reason you ask to hear this story so often, isn't he?"

An arrow of bashfulness pierced the child's heart. There was no use hiding anything from Flora. The woman had lived too long not to notice the signs of infatuation on a young girl's face.

Briar Rose blushed as she clutched her bedcovers. She couldn't think of anything to say at first, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her. "Aunt Flora?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Have you ever seen a man in real life before?"

"Oh, yes, my child. Many times."

Aunt Flora proceeded to tell young Briar Rose everything she knew about men. That they were usually taller than women, and that their voices were deeper. That they were meant to hunt and fight and protect. And that, sometimes, men could be dangerous.

"But your Prince here is not the dangerous sort of man," Aunt Flora assured the girl with a pat on her head. "I imagine he is kind and wholesome and chivalrous. A true gentleman."

Briar Rose tipped her head to one side and analyzed the picture in the book between them. She thought back to the other pictures of men she'd seen who featured in her storybooks. There had been fat kings, and old wizards, and bearded dwarves, and fearsome pirates. But none were like this man.

"He's different than the men in so many of the other books we read together," Briar Rose pointed out. "Don't you think, Aunt Flora?"

Flora looked down inquisitively. "In what way, dear?"

"I don't know, really. He looks so..." Briar Rose paused, trying to think of ways to describe her Prince, but as always she came up blank. "Well, I can't really put my finger on it. All I know is, I'd rather look at him for a very long time than turn the page. Even after we put the book away and I close my eyes, sometimes I still see his face in the dark." She lowered her voice to a hushed tone and confided, "That never happens with the other pictures, Aunt Flora. Only with this one."

"Hmmm. How very interesting," Flora mused, a smile evident in her voice as she watched the little girl move her finger shyly along the edge of the book.

"Something about him makes me feel...strange."

"How do you mean, strange?"

"Remember the time we were all walking upstairs in the dark, and Aunt Merryweather dropped the candle dish, and the hot wax spilled onto my foot?"

Flora chuckled in confusion at the misplaced memory. "I do, dear."

Briar Rose twisted her little hands together nervously. "Well, when I look at the Prince's picture, I feel like...like someone has just dropped a candle on my heart."

Flora seemed delighted by the child's description. "I see."

Briar Rose sighed and let her head droop against her Aunt's shoulder. "I'm not making any sense, am I, Aunt Flora?"

"On the contrary, child, I think I understand quite clearly what you're feeling."

"You do?"

"Oh, yes. You see, the reason you feel differently about the Prince's picture than you do when you look at pictures of other men is because... you find the Prince handsome."

Briar Rose tilted her head back to appraise the picture in a new light. "Handsome?" she tested the unfamiliar word.

"Yes," Flora nodded as she began stroking Rose's long blonde hair with a patient hand. "Not all men are handsome. In fact, I'd venture to say very few are. Your Prince, however, is exceptionally so. And that is what makes him different than the others."

"Is that why I see him in my dreams?" Briar Rose asked sleepily as her eyes slowly slipped shut.

With a peaceful smile, Flora closed the storybook and blew out the candle. "Yes, my child. I believe it is."

**-}0{-**

_6 years later..._

No matter how many times she explored this forest, there was always something new to discover. It was familiar, like the floorboards in her cottage, or the bottom of her porridge bowl. Something about it was always the same, and yet it was always changing. The forest was organic and nuanced, and full of mysterious pockets of life. The trees were tall and majestic, with slender branches that stretched up toward the sky. And their leaves grew, full and elegant, like plush green lace. The leaves were so thick in some parts that it looked like nighttime, and the sunlight became like starlight, flitting through in points and spots that danced over the grass.

There were rocks and cliffs that were too steep to climb, and bridges made of twigs and logs that stretched over ditches and streams. Nobody knew who built those bridges. It seemed they just appeared there overnight, in exactly the right spots to help her cross and continue her exploration. Sometimes Briar Rose liked to imagine an angel followed her in the forest while she walked alone, guiding her on her journey.

No matter how many times her aunts told her to be cautious in her wanderings, Briar Rose never truly believed that any harm would come to her. After all, how could anything bad ever happen in such a beautiful place? The forest was home to her. She'd grown up here, among trees and flowers and birds and streams. The peaceful chatter of nature was all the company she needed while she went on her walks. The little woodland critters led her through the shadows, and the tree branches all seemed to point her straight to where the ripest berries grew. And she would always find a bush full of them – plump and purple, glistening with dew.

Today, she was even luckier. The kind old trees had pointed out two bushes full of ripe berries, just waiting to be picked. She knelt down in the grass and plucked every last one to fill her basket, sneaking just a couple to test their sweetness. They were perfect – tart and light, ideal for making pies and preserves.

"There," Briar Rose said to herself after the last berry was tucked safely in her basket. "That should be more than enough."

A nearby bird chirped approvingly at the overflowing basket. With a smile, the young woman turned her head up to regard her watcher on a low hanging branch. The bird leaned forward with an almost inquisitive look in its eye, and Briar Rose kindly held up her knuckle for the hungry bird to perch.

"Alright, little bird," she whispered as she held out a single berry between two fingers. "Just one."

The bird twitched tentatively toward the berry before eagerly picking at it with its tiny beak. Briar Rose laughed freely at the sweet little bird before it fluttered back into its tree.

She peered up into the tangle of branches to see where the bird had gone, but a disheartening shade swallowed her surroundings as a cloud passed over the sun. Briar Rose sighed and continued her walk, following the trickling sounds of the stream in the right direction.

Sometimes she thought it would be nice not to walk all alone. To have someone talk to her when she was bored, and hold her hand when she passed through a rough patch. Like every other girl her age, she still had dreams. Dreams that became ever more potent as she grew up. Briar Rose was not a foolish girl; she knew that these kinds of fantasies would probably never come true, but still it was nice to imagine...

Sometimes she even still dreamed about her Prince. She would be walking through the forest, just like today, and suddenly he would appear before her, as handsome and radiant as she remembered from her storybook illustration. She didn't know what he would say to her – after all, she had no idea what a man's voice would sound like – but perhaps he would be completely silent, just like the picture. And that would be enough, she thought.

With a long sigh, Rose stared at the empty path ahead of her. The feeling of loneliness was harder to ignore when the sun went down. There wasn't much she could do to help it besides hum to herself and pretend that someone was harmonizing with her.

After a little while she happened to find that familiar cliff edge where she knew a breathtaking sight would await her. A few more steps and she found herself face to face with the wide, mountainous vista of the nearby kingdom.

A veil of gray mist shielded the distant turrets of the royal castle on the horizon. No matter how many times she looked at it, she always found the image staggering. It was so mysterious, so far away in the distance that if she ever dared to travel there, she would die of breathlessness before she reached it. She longed to get a closer glimpse of it, but one step further would send her tumbling down into the ravine below. And so she was destined to forever remain here, perched safely on her cliff at the edge of the forest, staring wistfully out at the kingdom beyond.

The wind blew gently in from the West, a chilly sweep that stroked her cold face and smelled of herbs and cedar – and just as quickly as it had come, it died away. The trees stood still and proud on the hillside, their leaves shimmering without movement in the overcast haze of early afternoon. Pink and blue wildflowers wore dewdrops like fine jewelry, boasting silently to one another as they bloomed in their grassy nest below.

From the dreary ensemble of the sky, Rose could sense oncoming rain, but it didn't worry her – the forest was so thick that she would never even get wet while she walked back home. For now, she could afford to stand here in regal silence and savor the stunning scene.

Her quiet reverie was eventually broken by the hoot of an incessant owl. Briar Rose tossed a teasing glare to the treetops and was rewarded with a panicked scattering of wings. "Silly birds," she murmured as she untangled her scarf from the branches. With one final glance at the majestic beauty behind her, she reluctantly headed back into the dim forest.

The trickling sounds of the brook beckoned her deeper into the woods, and she was quickly overtaken by a childish excitement to dip her feet into the water. She rushed to the rocky edge and tossed her worn shoes and her basket of berries aside, eager to feel the current around her ankles. Though it was already quite chilly outside, she still sought the refreshing sensation of the water lapping her bare feet, washing over her toes like a minty balm. She enjoyed the tranquility of wading in the stream, chatting senselessly to the curious animals about her dreams, confiding about her wish for company.

Before long she would feel herself growing weary and breathless from all her walking. When she looked down, she noticed her feet were shriveled from wading for too long in the cold water. She was ravished by a sudden wind that came swirling around her, like the arms of a rough waltzing partner, and she pulled her wrap closer around her arms as she struggled up the rocks to dry land.

On hands and knees, Briar Rose giggled quietly to herself, searching for where she'd left her shoes in the long grass. Chipmunks and squirrels scampered around her, pretending to help her look.

"They've got to be around here somewhere!" She narrowed loving eyes at the pair of squirrels in the grass beside her. "Have you little critters stolen my shoes?"

The animals scattered away at her accusation, and she was left to presume their innocence. She clucked her tongue and brushed her hands through the dirt, determined to find the only pair of shoes she owned. If she didn't happen across them soon, she'd be walking home barefoot. She could only imagine the looks of disapproval her aunts would give her when she came home. They'd have to spend a whole day fashioning her a new pair out of what little scraps of leather and hide they had left.

The moment she began to panic, Rose's hand suddenly collided with one shoe in the grass. "A-ha!" She tossed the shoe victoriously in the air and snatched it to her chest. "Now where's your twin?"

As she bent down to search closer for the other missing shoe, Rose was distracted by a curious rustling noise coming from behind her. She peeked to the side, assuming it was another pesky forest critter come to watch her make a fool of herself. She ignored it and kept on feeling around the grass, until she heard it again, this time louder and closer.

Startled, Rose bolted upright, still clutching one shoe in her hand. Her eyes darted from one clearing to the next, searching for the source of the mysterious sounds.

The crack of a twig snapping in half made her stomach twist in fright. The sound was disturbingly close this time, too distinct to have been made by any animal.

She was not alone in this forest.

Seized by a frisson of panic, Rose dropped her shoe in the grass and shot up to her feet. She quickly gathered her skirt in her hands and hid behind a tree, holding her breath.

The trickling of the brook was drowned out by clear, purposeful footsteps, drawing nearer and nearer to her hiding place. Torn by curiosity and the will to remain hidden, Rose gave in to her need to peek. Hugging the tree for protection, she slowly tilted her head to the side until she had an ample view of the clearing.

Another terrifying rustle of footsteps. Then, half a face, painted by a ray of silvery sun, flashed in the shadows. It was too quick to identify, and Rose felt a shiver of terror run down her spine.

She blinked in surprise as her fingers dug into the tree's sturdy bark, wondering if all the time she spent out here alone had made her vulnerable to hallucinations. Surely she was only seeing things.

But as she bravely focused her eyes on the shadowy figure across the stream, she was unable to pass it off as any fabrication.

The face was real. It belonged to a man. And it was beautiful.

The figure took one more step, and his entire face was illuminated by a splash of watered down sunlight. She could now clearly see two defined eyebrows, the deep amber gleam of his hair, the striking contour of his jaw... the twinkling clasp on the collar of his cape.

Her heart began to race wildly. And shortly after, so did her feet.

He called out to her – one word – "Wait!" And his voice was like the thrust of a spear.

So strange and disconcerting, the sound of his voice! It struck her at once, how different the voice of a man was compared to that of a woman. Was this what Aunt Flora had been trying to describe to her?

At first it frightened her, and she ran faster.

The forest swallowed her with its deep shadows and clinging branches, scraping at her arms and legs, and threatening to trip her with every step she took. The wind was suddenly knocked out of her as she stumbled into the presence of a tall, beastly creature she had never seen before in the forest.

The great white animal heaved a shuddering growl at her and stomped its long, muscled legs. Its broad snout and gleaming coal-like eyes made her gasp in fright, and she felt herself falling backwards into cold, empty—

"Oh!" Rose cried out in alarm as her fall was broken by a pair of strong hands and uncanny reflexes.

"Are you all right?" The strange, deep voice asked her. Only this time it was gentle, and not at all like a spear.

Overwhelmed by her foreign surroundings, Rose twirled around to face the stranger with the strong hands.

He was a terrifying vision to behold, so tall and so different. He was not quite slender like she was, but neither was he plump and round like her aunts. His shoulders were square, not narrow like hers, and there was nothing delicate about his arms or legs.

But above that intimidating height she saw a visage unlike anything her dreams could have conjured. He wore an expression of fervent wonder and sincerity, his face bright pink and breathless from exertion.

As she was trained to do, she forced herself to meet his eyes. In all her years there were only four pairs of eyes she'd come to know, including her own, which she only saw in her looking glass. This man's eyes were sinfully beautiful – an unsettling shade of dusky earth, dense yet pure.

All at once Rose saw a flashing image of her storybook Prince from so long ago...

"I...I..." In his presence, she could do nothing but sputter. She imagined she must have looked like a rabbit cornered by hounds. Something tightened in the center of her belly, and she felt the urge to take a step backward even though she sensed he had no intentions of hurting her.

"I'm so sorry, Miss, I didn't mean to frighten you," he swept on in his rich voice. Rose backed away slightly as he moved to stand beside the great white beast that had nearly trampled her earlier. "This is my horse, Samson. I promise you, he's harmless. You just startled him."

She watched as the young man hooked his fingers swiftly around the cord that held the horse's headpiece in place, and with his free hand he gently patted the horse's mane.

Rose tucked her hands behind her back, studying the man from a safe distance as he calmed his steed with quiet words and careful strokes. He seemed so at peace with everything that was happening, while she was tremulous and puzzled. He was so... strange, yet so nice to look at. Nearly as tall as the horse he tamed, his body was lean and strapping, composed of intriguing angles and lines that wouldn't have made sense on a woman's frame. He wore a belted tunic and stockings the color of iron gall, and over his calves were sleek black riding boots that just kissed the caps of his knees. But the most interesting part of his ensemble, Rose thought, was the thick scarlet cape draped around his shoulders.

Yet one more suspiciously similar quality he shared with her fairytale Prince.

After some time the horse had settled, and the young man slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. As he stared directly at her, Rose felt something stirring within. A sensation like a hundred hungry birds beating their wings frantically inside her chest.

"Are you alone?" he asked her, his eyes bright with worry.

"Yes," Rose quietly answered the stranger.

His eyebrows narrowed in disapproval. "How long have you been out here?"

As much as she wanted to remain silent in his presence, something about this man inspired in her a will to respond honestly to every question he asked.

"Since sunrise," she answered promptly, drawing pictures in the dirt with her toe.

His eyes flickered down to her bare feet for a fleeting moment before he looked back at her face.

"I see."

Something shifted between them then. Rose sensed a peak in his sense of entitlement to judge her for how she spent her time. He did not know of her circumstances, where she'd come from or where she was headed. And why should he know? He was just a stranger passing through the forest. She did not have to answer to him at all.

"Well... I should be heading back now," Rose began tentatively, treading backwards through the weeds. "It was pleasant talking to you, good sir."

"Wha—"

Before he had a chance to speak, she turned around and hurried back to the brook. Hoping he had given up on following her, Rose skipped over the running stream and tumbled into the grass on the other side. She winced in pain as she lifted her knee, revealing the missing shoe she had been looking for. She groaned and dusted herself off as she got to her feet, patting the bottom of her shoe to knock the pebbles out.

"Why do you keep running away from me?" His voice struck her again with its strange depth. She all but felt it in her very bones. Women's voices just didn't do that.

Rose whipped around to find him standing on the other side of the brook, one arm stretched casually against a tree and his hand on his hip.

"I'm really not supposed to speak to strangers, you see," she explained meekly.

He shrugged. "Seeing as we've already met a few minutes ago, I believe we're no longer strangers."

It was such an odd thing to say, yet also amusing and somehow intelligent in a compelling sort of way. Rose wondered if all men spoke this way. As she thought about it, she couldn't help but smile.

In return, he smiled slowly – devastatingly – and the sudden flash of humor in his lovely eyes startled her. There was a sinister sweetness to his face when he smiled, as his cheeks broadened and his eyes crinkled, and he somehow appeared both younger and older at once.

"I don't know you at all," Rose mumbled nervously, wringing her hands in front of her lap.

He shook his head as he stepped forward. "You don't need to be afraid of me."

"Some men are dangerous," she quoted, using Flora's words of warning from when she was just a child.

The young man flinched. "I suppose..."

He stopped short, and she realized he must have noticed the direction of her gaze as she stared uneasily at the sword attached to his hip.

A look of understanding dawned on his face, and he immediately reached for the golden handle. Rose likewise took a quick step backward, holding onto the nearest tree.

She watched the man as he tentatively stepped forward, so close to the edge of the stream that the tips of his boots got wet. In one smooth motion he unsheathed his sword, drawing it long to lay in the grass beside his feet. It shimmered threateningly in the dim light, but he treated the weapon as if it were as light and harmless as a bird's feather. After he'd laid it in the grass, he swept his cape across one shoulder so that she would be free to note the evidence of his unarmed state.

"Now may I cross?" he asked, his eyes pleading.

Rose nodded reluctantly as she let go of the tree.

Formalities redeemed, he let his cape fall into place, and set one boot boldly into the stream to cross it.

The water splashed robustly around his ankles as he made his way through. He didn't hop from one stone to the next like she did when she wanted to keep dry. Instead, he stepped right into the rushing water, and Rose cringed for any innocent fishes who happened to be in his way. He had the stride of a prince, that was certain. His legs moved with purpose and a formal sort of power. He had the gaze of a curious explorer, but an assuredness of step that belonged to someone who knew quite well where he was headed.

Little sparks of worried heat pressed against her insides, all up and down her body. She again had to suppress the urge to back away from him. Her heart seemed to sense him as a threat, despite his obvious kindness.

She forced herself to stand still as he finally approached her side of the stream. He raised one boot, then the other, and stepped heavily into the grass, his feet planted there as firmly as the trees around him.

"You're still here," he stated happily, sounding strangely breathless as he gestured across to her.

Though his body took up a good portion of her field of vision, Rose's eyes still strayed to the sword that lay in the grass not far behind him. It was something she'd only ever seen in books. To see one right before her very eyes was both intimidating and fascinating.

"Why do you carry that sword?"

He looked utterly caught off-guard by her precocious question. He threw a quick glance back at his discarded weapon before smiling sheepishly at her. "For protection."

"And you're willing to give it up so easily?" she asked, earning a teasing smirk from him.

"I don't believe you pose a threat to me. And seeing as there are no other witnesses to our encounter, I think we're both quite safe in each other's presence."

His remark drew attention to their utter seclusion, and her heartbeat hastened. "Oh."

"What were you doing before I found you?" he asked suddenly, as if his words were waves he couldn't keep at bay.

She glanced down at her basket and her lonely shoe in the grass. "I was picking berries."

That same look of disapproval crossed his face. "A woman should never be alone in the forest," he said darkly.

"Perhaps not, sir," she conceded, "but I have been doing it for quite some time now."

A begrudging smile quirked on his lips. "I gathered as much."

Heavens, he was handsome – unbearably so. Though she had never seen another man in the flesh before, she was almost certain no other man could match her Prince so closely in both countenance and physique.

Her heart broke a little bit at the foolish feeling of betrayal she felt toward her storybook Prince. This man could not have simply jumped forth from the pages into her life. This man, with his gentle voice and penetrating eyes, was driving her mad.

Rose stubbornly began to gather up her basket and her shoes. "I really must be going."

"You are heading North?" he asked, almost frantically, when he noticed her intended direction.

"Mmhm."

"Please let me walk with you," he implored, his large hand outstretched in tempting chivalry. "I will not follow you to your home, I promise. At least let me walk you to the bridge."

"The bridge?" Rose repeated in confusion.

"Yes."

"Oh, but I never take that path," she said as if it were something egregious.

"What path do you take?"

"I walk through the valley," she said simply. "I never cross the bridge."

He looked stunned. "That land is uncharted."

"On maps only. I walk it nearly every week."

"You do?"

"Why, yes."

He paused to stare at her, his eyes aflame with delighted awe.

"Show me," he demanded, his deep voice muted by sheer exhilaration.

"If you wish," Rose agreed.

He smiled then, with an enthusiasm that made his eyes sparkle. As they passed to the other side of the brook, he stopped to pick up his sword. She watched him lift it easily with his bare hands, and for some reason she felt a tremendous heat creep into her cheeks as he secured it in its proper place against his hip.

He rose swiftly from the rocks, the movement making her aware of the long, lean strength of him. He held out his hand, and as soon as she took it, his fingers closed in around hers, generating a wave of warmth that dumbfounded her. His fingers felt like spots of sunlight on her skin.

Somehow she ended up disconcertingly close to him as he pulled her up over the steep edge of the hill. Inches from his face, she could better see the fascinating slopes and angles of his features. His jaw was appealingly bold, colored very slightly by a mysterious velvet shadow that could only be seen from up close. Even his neck was enchanting to look at.

Something approaching panic brushed her heart as she let him guide her through the tangle of trees. They moved at a slow but contented pace, accommodating the peaceful trot of his horse behind them.

After some time, he finally asked the one question she feared he would. "May I ask your name?"

She swallowed hard. "Forgive me, but I'd rather you didn't."

He chuckled, the pleasant sound vibrating straight through her hand. "Well, I just did."

She didn't answer. Tearing her hand reluctantly away from his, she felt a blush heat her face as she walked ahead of him.

He sighed heavily behind her. "If you're not going to tell me, I'm going to have to guess."

"You may be guessing for quite a while," she warned, appreciating the chance to stump him for once.

"Then perhaps you'll be kind enough to give me a hint," he offered. His horse whinnied with timely encouragement.

She looked over her shoulder and was instantly won over by the tender grin on his face. "Just one hint..."

He came discreetly closer to her while they walked, a hopeful twinkle in his eye as he waited for her to follow through.

"I'm named after a flower," she settled shyly.

His face looked all dreamy as he stared down at her. "Ahh... How fitting."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was just thinking of how many different flowers there are in the forest." He sighed merrily and shook his head. "So many possibilities..."

Rose smiled to herself, waiting patiently for her heart to slow down. But it never did. Instead this feeling of delightful bliss continued to plague her until she felt like she was floating above the ground. Bare feet and all, she hardly felt the solid earth beneath her as she walked by this man's side.

Was this what her dreams would feel like if they were real? Could this young man be the precious answer to her prayers? Could he, by some miracle, be the Prince from her fairytale fantasy come to life?

It was true, when she looked at him, she could easily imagine him scaling the pastoral grandeur of the kingdom on his snow white steed, with his sword and his cape, just like the picture in her book. And if Aunt Flora were here, she could admit that she found this man inconceivably handsome, and that was the reason her heart felt like a caged bird whenever she looked at him.

"Well, here we are," Rose sighed when the journey was over. In her mind she marveled that it had never taken such a short time to pass through the valley before.

Her escort looked inconsolable at the thought of parting with her. She imagined she must have looked the same way.

"I'll be heading back home now," she said softly, just in case he needed reminding that they could not continue on together.

"Will I see you again?" he asked hopefully.

Rose turned to look up at him in shameless surprise. It baffled her that such a man could be so mournful to part with her. There he stood in all his sublime glory, crowned by rain-casted sunlight, his dark eyes glistening with regret that their time together had reached its end.

"Maybe someday," she whispered, and her heart thumped into her throat as if she'd just promised something scandalous.

"When? Tomorrow?" he teased, tilting his head to the side as his eyes laved adoringly over her face.

"Oh, no..." she said in a hushed voice, "this evening."

His eyes widened by a margin, and a color like pink fire spread fast across his cheeks.

"Where?" he breathed, his knuckles white from holding his horse's bridle so tightly.

As she backed her way slowly into the protective shade of the forest, she whispered, "At the cottage in the glen."

She could see her eyes reflecting in his, the utter trust she was offering him, a perfect stranger, to lead him right into her heart. This was irreversible, she realized not long after she'd uttered the words. There was no way he would fail to find her now; not with his formidable sense of direction, and her wanton desire to be discovered. As he'd said before, this was uncharted land, but she was more than willing to walk all over it with him.

Before she could vanish from sight, he reached out and gripped her hand in his, and she felt that fire flow straight through her. Her breath caught, and he just barely smiled, and she was so thrilled she could hardly contain herself.

"I'll find you," he promised, his voice deeper than ever.

And he lifted her hand to his lips, and brushed one light kiss on her trembling fingers. And when his eyes met hers for the last time, he seared her very soul.


End file.
